


Worth a Thousand Words

by SunriseinSpace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Failwolf Friday, Fluff, Future Fic, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Not AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseinSpace/pseuds/SunriseinSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Couldn't you just... smile?"</p>
<p>Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles takes another picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth a Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

> This was SUPPOSED to be a) a model/photographer Sterek thing because people on Tumblr were talking about there being a dearth of such fics and b) Derek failing at modeling. It got very...feels-y instead (I'm assuming it still counts).
> 
> Also, I figured, it being Derek's camera would explain the lack of lens-flare in the resulting photos. IDK...

Why the hell is Derek even doing this? His eyes narrow and he resists the urge to cross his arms, instead focusing on the click of the camera aimed his direction.

"Are you sure you've got it set right?" he asks, finally having enough of this and taking a step forward. "It's delicate and you have to--" The photographer - Stiles, of course it's Stiles - matches him step for step, playing keep away and snapping more photos as Derek grows more and more frustrated. "You're not-- You're gonna break something!" he eventually snaps, flinging a hand out to stop Stiles' backward progress and finally get his hands on the camera.

"I thought you said you trusted me!" Stiles bites back, grinning through his indignation as he makes grabby-hands for the camera.

"I trust you to _hold_ the camera, not handle it," Derek mutters, grumbling under his breath as he flips through the different menu options on the camera's screen, checking over what Stiles has changed. It's hard to decide if he's more or less frustrated by the fact every setting is where Derek would've put it for a location like this.

"You said you trusted me," Stiles pronounces and deftly plucks the camera out of Derek's hands. "And you're the one that pulled this out when I said I wanted a good picture of you. So, _back off_." There's no flailing hands, no flashy distractions, just pure command in Stiles' tone and a raised eyebrow. With a frown, Derek returns to the tree they'd chosen and leans his shoulders against it.

Stiles dicks around a while, snapping pictures from odd angles and varying distances, stupid hipster-style images Derek can see in his mind's eye, rolling his eyes even as Stiles captures another close-up of his expression.

"You're a horrible model," Stiles mumbles under his breath, fully aware Derek can hear him, even as he straightens up and sights through the view-finder. Derek scowls and flips him the middle finger, the edges of the expression twitching as Stiles takes a picture of that, too, then sticks his tongue out at Derek. "Couldn't you just... smile?"

Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles takes another picture.

(The memory card's gonna be a bitch to deal with later - so many repetitive images. Derek can't stand wasting the space like that, even if they're deletable.)

(Laura would've laughed at him.)

(She always did, then she'd take another picture.)

"C'mon, Derek." Stiles stops, lowers the camera. "Smile."

"Why? You said you wanted a photo." He gestures at the camera held loosely in Stiles's hands. "You've got plenty of 'em."

"I want..." Stiles huffs, scrubs a hand over his head like he's forgotten his hair's not buzzed anymore (it's funny how often he still does that, three years after the last buzzcut). "I want a good one of you, one where you're happy and it's explicitly stated on your face, so that, on the days where I'm maxed out on energy drinks and still got t'pull an all-nighter to get through an essay, I can see it and remember that not everything's stress and adrenaline and textbooks and rogue werewolf packs. So that I've something else to remember and think about when the nightmares come back. So that, when I'm three hours away at Berkeley and I still can't get away for the weekend, I've got your smile to keep me company. I just..." He trails off, frustrated, a palm to the back of his neck and a thousand-yard stare trained over Derek's left shoulder.

Derek winds his fingers into Stiles's collar, a steadying hand on Stiles's wrist, and hauls him forward into a kiss, slow and sweet and reassuring. College is hard on the pack, even after a year of it, and the strain makes them all cling to whatever comfort they can get - Derek more than understands Stiles's request.

"Okay," he murmurs against Stiles' lips, finagling the camera around to shoot an awkwardly angled photo of the two of them like this, before pressing the camera back against Stiles's chest.

(Three days later, Derek will shove a box at Stiles' chest and wish him a safe trip back, leaning through the Jeep's window to kiss him one last time before stepping back to wave at the shrinking taillights, same as he always does when Stiles has to get back to school. There will be two picture frames inside and Stiles will smile when he pulls them out, sitting on his bed in his dorm room, first studying the blurry, off-center image of their faces close in a kiss. He'll laugh as he sets that one aside and gets a look at the other.

In it, Derek's smiling, small and lopsided, and the shaft of sunlight he's standing in gives him a halo.)


End file.
